


Hair of the Dog

by Caracalliope



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Disabled Sex, Fix-It, Fluff, Hand & Finger Kink, Kneeling, Licking, M/M, Post-Canon, Puppy Play, Sober Gamzee Makara, Worship, hounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 00:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13822749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/pseuds/Caracalliope
Summary: Gamzee wants to practice being a good hound. Tavros is kind enough to help a brother out.





	Hair of the Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this delightful prompt: https://pb-anon.dreamwidth.org/1146.html?thread=2426#cmt2426

Back on Alternia, devilhounds weren’t all up for fuzzycuddles and scraps from the breakfast table. They hunted and they feasted as best they could. The white ones would adopt a kid when the time was right. The black ones would eat a kid when the opportunity rose up with the double moons. Gamzee liked them all.

And he always had a deeper knowledge put in him than what was given on the Discipular Channel. He knew of the hounds of the carnival: the fat barkfiends and the elastic skinny yapbeasts that ran with the jugglers and the necrobats. Those hounds came in every blessed color from black and white to chocolate and gray. In his visions, they slept by the rainbow cocoons of true believers.

Gamzee’s faith and his planet were up and blown to nothingness. Instead of the Discipular Channel, he’s got these alien words for alien animals and they feel sparse on his tongue.

But Tav’s hatefriend with the ears, she’s got true devilbeast miracles all up in her blood. He can recognize the real thing when it growls down upon him.

And when Gamzee takes his walks outside, as he’s allowed to now, and he drinks in the weak and treacherous new sun - there are hounds out there to greet him. In form no different than the ones back home, only their manner gives Gamzee his doubts. Jumping and licking and being so sweet, it all up and makes a brother think they want something from him. But all he can give is the gentleness of his fronds and the alien beasts look to be content with his offering.

So it makes Gamzee get his contemplation on.

If a beast born in blood instead of slime can grow into gentleness, then gentleness has got to be something a brother can learn. Even after his brain was rotted and re-grown, invaded and then left to chill in the dark. Instincts are vicious miracles but he doesn’t have to keep on following them to beyond what gives him his joy and salvation.

So Gamzee tries. But being a good hound takes a bitchload of motherfucking practice. Gamzee’s too worn and wrung these days to get himself into big changes with no help.

His bro Tavros can teach him what’s right and what’s good. Tav is perfect because he can get his strictest disciplinarian wrath on with a twitch of those lips and those artwork eyebrows. But first, he will give Gamzee his full blessed patience. Patience flows through Tavros with every breath. Maybe it was built into him, like clay, by whatever shouty gods made them all to begin with. Could be it came from the spider who always rushed him. Or maybe it’s a thing he practiced too, away from where Gamzee could get his knowledge of it.

Tavros has got a big enough desk for Gamzee to fit under. And his new Tinkerbull is generous enough to lend a bro a cushion. So Gamzee folds himself into plience and tries as best he can to be good.

Finding his silence is the worst tribulation, but whines come natural to him. And growls always did. He figures a patient brother can deal with whines and with growls.

A patient brother can choose to reward them, or not, as he sees fit.

The weak sun is still out now and Tavros has his shutters up and open, as he was quick to adapt to this lukewarm new world. He’s summoning up his legions on the forums, up and rousing them against the god of time. Or could be he’s taking a break, working on the legions of New Fiduspawn.

All Gamzee wants is warm hands all up in his hair. He rests his chin on those metal legs. Now and again, Tavros reaches down in his kindness to show Gamzee his appreciation. But his fronds don’t linger. He needs those to type.

The touches ain’t a conciliation, coming from Tav’s hand, but nor is conciliation needed.

Still, even a good hound can get his begging on if he wants a treat. So when Tavros reaches down, Gamzee captures Tav’s fronds between his teeth and then gently licks them up. Sucks as well as he knows how.

Mammals, Tav told him, do this from first breath and with no thinking. Gamzee can’t do a fucking thing but think about it. His teeth are hound teeth. Tavros has got soft fingers, sensitive fingertips that can flood him full with pleasure.

A moment’s slip would be enough to hurt.

Tavros rolls away before Gamzee can get all up into his mirth. He’s not using his four-wheeled device today, just that office seating unit with the spider legs. Gamzee checks on his bro's fingers, but there’s no scrape nor pinpoint wound there. There hasn’t been since the first time.

“I think that you’re looking for some attention,” Tavros says. “Would you say that that is what you’re doing?”

Gamzee whines, loud. When Tav gets his teasing on, it’s hard to tell where it will take him.

Tavros grins, with lips and eyebrows alike. One hand he sinks into Gamzee’s hair. The other he offers up for worship.

“This is a really sweet gesture,” Tavros says, “or, at least, I count it as a sweet gesture in the context of who you are and what you strive to be for me.” Gamzee licks his wrist, then returns to licking circle patterns into his palm. He thinks he can hear the rush of Tav’s blood, called down to make the warm skin miraculously warmer.

“But your eyes are closed again,” Tav goes on. “And I know that we talked about that, so.” The hand that’s in Gamzee’s hair pulls, upward and backward. “Open up those ocular receptacles if you want things to stay jocularly acceptable, uh, within the boundaries of doggy chilling with no severe beatings.”

Gamzee snorts into his palm and feels the giggle spread, wave-like, down to the tips of Tav’s fronds.

Sure, he can obey a command when his brother asks so nice. Later, he won’t be a hound anymore, and Tavros will let him keep his eyes closed all up and through their makeouts.

He looks up, takes in the colors this setting sun’s leaving on his bro’s face. All looks up and bathed in warmth.

He keeps on looking when Tav paps him, as a moirail would, and leaves a kiss on the tip of his horn.

“I have to admit,” Tavros says, “or, actually, I choose to admit, haha, because I could have waited more, but I won’t,” he pauses, “that your shyness is really sweet. In the context of what gets me hot.” He gets his caresses on, next Gamzee’s eye. He’s always filled with care too. “Because I know being shy isn’t a trait you were hatched with.”

Does Tavros ever think about Gamzee’s eye color showing him feral or tamed? It’s not the night to ask.

Instead of impudent questions, Gamzee gets his appreciation on. He sucks on those soft fingers until mirth rises up in Tavros. It feels like the most miraculous tide. Maybe Gamzee imagines tasting its arrival or maybe it's miracles.

The hand clutching Gamzee’s hair goes sweet and slack. It is only after that that Gamzee stops being careful, sets his appreciation lower down.

Licking on the metal legs can pinch and harm him. Gamzee likes the taste of it.

In time, he settles down on his floor, drags the cushion on over. Tav gives up on his grubtop and instead taps away on his hand-held device. The legions need communing with. Everyone in paradise has an important job to do, and Gamzee’s job right now is to lick his brother’s feet clean.

**Author's Note:**

> The fic title comes from that one Nazareth song. Or more specifically, from my favorite webcomic panel of all time: http://tjandamal.com/comic/?id=207


End file.
